Behind it, crouched close, squatted some infantry soldiers, firing from the cover of the wreckage.

Behind every tree, every stump, every inequality, lay infantry, dead, wounded, or alive and cautiously firing.

Several took advantage of the fallen battery horses for shelter.

Only one horse of that gun-team remained alive, and the gunners had lashed the prolonge to the trail of the overturned cannon and to the poor horse's collar, and were trying to drag the piece away with the hope of righting it.
This manoeuvre dislodged the group of infantry soldiers who had taken shelter there, and, on all fours, they began crawling and worming and scuffling about among the dead leaves, seeking another shelter from the pelting hail of lead.
There was nothing to be seen beyond the willow gully except smoke, set grotesquely with phantom trees, through which the enemy's fusillade sparkled and winked like a long level line of fire-flies in the mist.
The stretcher bearers crept about gathering up the wounded who called to them out of the smoke.

Ailsa, on her knees, made her way toward a big cavalryman whose right leg was gone at the thigh.
She did what she could, called for a stretcher, then, crouching close under the bank of raw earth, set her canteen to his blackened lips and held it for him.
"Don't be discouraged," she said quietly, "they'll bring another stretcher in a few moments.